He was sitting in the the front row. Alone. There was not a single person to his right of left. Behind him, rows and rows of patrons sat captivated by the performance on stage.

A lady ran from one end of the stage to the other. A backdrop of a shabby kitchen within a wooden house kept her in scene. A small table with two children. One a girl with braided twin tails in an ancient pilgrim dress and another a boy, dressed in a white discolored button down shirt and black shorts. They both sat with their feet barely touching the floor. A man sat leaning back in one of the chairs. His eyes were hollow and he stared right through the women who was clanking pans, yelling at all three of them and waving about in frantic motions. On his head was small black hat, his face was hanging and unkept. Black hair poked around his ears and from under the brim of his hat. In his mouth a pipe moved from one side of his mouth to the other until he stopped, inhaled and blew a large puff of smoke into the room above the children.

In stark contrast to the children and the man, the women was a blaze of motion and emotion. She could not sit still, could not stop speaking, could not and maybe would not, compose herself. She went on for more then five minutes in a kinetic torrent, then as she picked up a pan full of bacon she was frying on the cast-iron stove top froze completely.

The man in the front rose slowly to this feet. A clap came from the back of the room, which was now devoid of all patrons.

“This time, we seem to be meeting in the same place. I wondered where you would be hiding. Here? Watching this drab show, it does not become of you” A light female voice spoke from the shadows in the back.

The man started to move off to the side.

“Vincent, you cannot run forever”

The man stopped and turned to the shadows. The theater was Victorian style. high grand ceilings with drapes and terrace seating with rounded private suites scaling the sides towards the stage. It was done in swirling gold and cast in velvet. The seats stood with rows of rows of felt crimson backings, worn slightly in the middle where many backs had rested upon. Heels clacked against the felt
carpet of the aisle and she revealed her self.

Vincent had seen her many times, in many different ways. Once the tenderness of her eyes gazed at him from a distance, then in his private quarters. Those eyes, now shone deep violet. Her dark blue hair draped to one side and curled in all directions. Her look was one of a ringleader in a circus. Tight white pants that went above her waist with four brass buttons. A red blouse was tucked into the pants just above her stomach which a black long coat came to two points behind her knees. The jacket had rows of brass buttons on the right side of the open, a crest of a raven upon a gravestone was embroiled on the right breast. Black boots with needled heels rose her a few inches off the ground. Her face was soft, but her devilish smile and narrowed eyes cast a different story.

“You think that I am running from you, Victoria?” He said.

She scoffed and stopped a couple of feet from him. Her eyes flicked from him to the frozen scene on stage then back to him.

“Why else would you jump from one place to another? Then ending up in theaters and concerts all over time and space watching the most mundane of performances. Every time I show up, you go somewhere else. At first it was hard to find you, now it is just predicable”

“Then you will see me again, sooner then later” Vincent turned on his heels and lept onto the stage. He gave one glance behind him to Victoria, who stood scowling. He missed those eyes in a different light. His heart pinched, as it always did, as it always would. He turned back and exited the right side of the stage.

The lady, the man and the children now bowed on the stage. The audience was on their feet clapping and cheering for the performance.

Victoria stood among the clamor. Her eyes fixed on the right side of the stage. She then turned and marched back down the aisle and into the shadows.

Keeping on point with the theater performances. I had just seen the movie Everything, Everywhere, All at once, which is a fantastic film about family drama and emotions of ones life passing by with time travel involved. While this story follows sort of the magician vibe, with mystery coming from no where and showing up, I still had the thought of one jumping through time and space to weird and odd shows being performed at the theaters or other spaces.

“You say that you cannot sleep?”

“No doc, I told you. I sleep just fine. It’s that when I sleep I dream of being asleep.” The girl in the large leather sofa closed her eyes tight “It’s endless. I sleep, then she sleeps and the me in her falls a asleep. Like an infinity mirror. Then it stops and I wake up. Exhausted”

She could hear the scribbles of notes being recored. Her therapist, who she called doc, half lidded eyed his page of notes.

“How can I be so exhausted when I am falling asleep so much “ she let out a small nervous laugh.

“How do you know which one of you is the one awake right now?” doc asked still studying his notes. It was more a thought then a question to her. Doc approached his sessions like a scientist. Actively trying to figure it out.

The clock on the wall ticked away, but they both sat pondering.

“Wait are you saying I might still be asleep?” she finally said sitting up on the sofa.

Doc shrugged and set down the note pad on the small table to his right “Maybe, could it be that the last ‘you’ woke up and the others before are still asleep? The original you is still asleep and then there are multiple of you between ‘you’ and you?” Doc pursed his lips “That means I’m not real either. I’m dream me” he nodded slowly to himself then swiped his note book back up and started to furiously write.

She let out a sigh and fell back onto the couch with a plop. What was the last thing she remembered doing? How did she get here? When did she wake up?

The last thought. No alarm, no sunrise, no mom calling up to her. She woke up exhausted though? Didn’t she?

“Doc…” she turned to him, but the seat was empty. A torrent of terror jerked her up and into the middle of the room. “Doc” she called again. She looked around the office. It looked as it always had, but something was missing. It felt off. She then walked to leave.

There was no door.

Replaced in it’s spot was a painting of her in bed. Awake. Wide eyed staring at her ceiling. Staring at her.

When their eyes met each other the office melted with slow syrup motion. The colors blotted together and forms seemed to mix with thick consistency. The only object in the room to not melt was the painting. Which still stared at her. She could not tear her vision from it.

Caught in a trance she walk towards it. Her feet slugged through the floor as got closer. She reached her hands out and they went into the painting as if it was a window. She felt the other room pull and grip her hand with ungodly force.

Her arms pulled deeper into the painting. Their colors and skin melding together like the room. Stretching, straining, melting towards her self. She screamed.

Her painting screamed still wide eyed.

The force was to strong. She melted through the frame into her other self. She fell straight into her own screaming face. Then again and again and again. As if each rendition of her sleeping figure was now waking up.

She jolted up from her bed with a scream. Her eyes pointed towards the white plaster ceiling.

For a moment she sat staring, trying to catch her breath. Then she pressed her face into her palms.

A knock came at her door.

“I’m okay, I just had a bad dream” she tried to reassure her parents.

A different voice came from behind the door.

“Did you find out if you were still asleep” Doc’s muffled voice came as an answer.

She got up from her bed and as her feet put pressure on the floor she fell.

and kept falling.

Dreams are an odd one. I am sure that I will be writing a lot more about dreams. I have very vivid dreams. I remember them and sometimes I feel as if they are more real then my actual life. I have places I come back to in my dreams. They all have such vivid sights and emotions.

I should interpret them, but I have yet to do that. Pay attention to your dreams though. They are very important.

It was five in the afternoon and he danced around the house from one typewriter to the next. The ideas would not stop. Each time his fingers touched the steel keys new ideas picked up where they left off and his imagination spun to keep up with his rhythmic typing. One idea, one scene, one character, one rising and another falling. Then switch. His leather shoes knocking at the hard wood floor to the next machine. The sound of metal pounding paper filled the air again. It was constant background noise from every angle of the house. Even if it broke and he stepped back to think for just a moment, the sound still lingered in the air. A smile came to his lips

“Yeah thats good” he gave a laugh while still working his magic upon the keys. The end of the page approached and he ripped the paper from the jaws of the beast, laid it on another stack of pages filled with ink and rolled another piece of paper into the machines clutches. As soon as it was realigned the letters started to appear on the page.

While he typed, in his head the whole thing played out.

“James, it’s over for you and your goody two shoe-d girl” the man in the shadows said.

James knew that he could not out gun the man. Why? Because he know knew who he was.

“I never thought it would be you that would double cross me” he put out his hand to shield Charlotte “Gilbert Demson”

Gilbert stepped forward and let the light hit him. He stood with a smug smile wearing the same white and black suit that he had on at the party. He didn’t even bother to get changed before trying to kill him.

“How are you going to get out of this one James” the man gave a wicked smile and typed the answer. Dear Charlotte. Ace shooter. Preparing a gun behind James back. James explains that he knew Gilbert’s secret of funneling money to the construction company taking over the neighborhoods. In a moment of surprise. Thats when she takes the shot. One chance. Dead bang. Right between the eyes.

He wraps up the story mid page. Tears it away and sets it on the stack. One done, many more to go. His foot steps are moving again to the next adventure. The readers, his imagination, they cannot be satisfied. The clinking of the keys start up again. His face lights up in a smile.

When I was in Japan I started listening to radio dramas on audible. One that I stumbled upon was The Shadow. Which was about Lamont Cranston “wealthy young man about town”. He had an alter ego. He learned a trick to make himself invisible and he would stop evil as the shadow.

I recently discovered that the writer of the shadow, Walter B. Gibson, was insanely productive. He would write all the time and I saw that he had typewriters in each of his rooms, each with a story that he was working on. Not sure if that is true, but his output regardless was incredible. Here is a small snippet that I found of him talking about his writing. Also he was a magician.

Brushed across the sky was swirling clouds of purple and orange. The sun peaked just above the fields and around houses. He walked up towards the small train station. It was made out of wood, single room with a small ticket booth, which was no longer in use. A small bench ran across one side of the room with a few ornate pads to be sat on. Behind it on the wall was a board filled with advertising, job postings, kids art and a map to a couple of local tourist spots. Through the building and over tracks was a ramp that led to a long concrete platform that ran along the metal roads and poles of wire that escorted the trains.

The station was empty besides him. He walked through and stepped onto the platform and waited. The air was hot, thick and humid, even with the sun now waving goodnight. He dabbed his head with a cloth and then returned it to his fine pressed suit. Lights started to turn on and the last of the sun turned to darkness. He stood waiting still. He was early. Then out in the distance a light appeared to be moving towards him.

He took a deep breath in.

The train grew larger, calling out with it’s horn and slowed before reaching the platform. The yellow lights of the cabins whirled past him then came to a halt.

He released his breath.

The doors opened. The train was also empty besides the conductor who waved from the front of the car with a big smile.

He hesitated. Waved off the torrents of nervousness.

“行きましょう” he whispered to him self and stepped into the humming train.

The doors closed and it pulled slowly away form the station. Carrying another towards their destiny.

行きましょう = “Let’s do this”

This was inspired by waiting for trains in Japan. When I traveled around Shikoku I waited for a lot of trains out in the country side. In Japanese movies/anime/manga there are scenes where they either show train station when the sun is setting or characters standing on the train platform. Before the trip the scenes did not mean much to me,they seemed to be showing that the characters were about to travel, but after experiencing it my self I can sense the feeling now that is being portrayed in those scenes. It is a sense of daily life. Train and train station would accompany one through their whole life making imprints of memories through out time. All feelings could be wrapped in those stations. One memorable train station was Motoyama station. It is just after temple 70 Motoyamji and down the street. Around is a bit rural,but when you get to the station you see all the fields that surround it. When I got there the sun was setting and the sky was a deep purple and red. Nothing was better then catching the train after an exhausting day.

Trains also carried majority of people in Japan, so each person I saw was going somewhere, doing something. I was fascinated with their stories. Trains carried dreams.

The lights dimmed and the crowd hushed. The auditorium was filled past maximum capacity. People were selling tickets that did not exist and shuttling families in through the windows to see this once in a lifetime show. Mr.Solstice. The grand magician from a far away land. His shows were legendary and he only did one show per city. You never knew where he was going to be next. He never announced, or told anything, just moved to the next town and as soon as he arrived exclaimed that he would be doing a show the next day. He seemly moved around the country in bursts that could not be followed. He would move at impossible speeds from state to state. Sometimes being on the east coast and a day later on the west coast. This helped boost his mystique. If he could move that fast, who knew when he might just disappear completely. There were only a handful of people who had seen him more then once. If you were there you saw him, if you weren’t, you missed him. Sometimes he would show up in big cities, other times in small towns with barely anyone living in them. Small farms would gather around him in a barn filled with hay and cows where he would stoke the imagination and grant a portal into another world for a night. He would perform for everyone and anyone, but only once. He made no special appearances and entertained no requests.

Tonight he was making him self visible in the medium town of Morgantown. It’s theater sat next to river running through the middle of town which was nestled in between green forested hills.
Mr.Solstice appeared in a blinding light onto the stage. The crowd gasped and cheered as he bowed. He was an older gentlemen. Graying black hair pushed back off his face but flowing. His outfit was a black and white. A long coat that reached just above his feet which were adorned in leather black boots that were bound with laces and buckles. His pants seemed tight and he was thin. He had the looks of a gentleman, but the smile of a thief.

He put out his hands and roared into the crowd. They roared back at him.

“Welcome to the end of what you thought was possible. The most magical night that you will ever experience, witness, and comprehend. Tonight I will show you what is possible, what the world has hidden from you in plain sight. Your eyes, your spirit will not be deceived any longer. All that flows through you tonight is real. As real as the flesh on your bones. Sit back and be dazzled. Leave here with something more then you came in with. Imagination that is no longer shackled.”

The whole theater erupted with anticipation. Mr.Solstice stepped towards the front of the stage and rose his arms out in front of him. In a quick jerky motion he flung them back. As he did flames ignited on his palms.

“Wouldn’t you like be able to cook like this” he joked as he moved fluidly across the stage tossing fire up in the air and catching it like they were solid objects. He then clapped his hands together as if he was a martial artists and the flames went out with a burst. The crowd recoiled at the sudden sound, but ushered for more. Mr. Solstice produced more magic. He made water flow from his long jacket. Balls of light appear in the middle of the stage that floated across the crowd whipping around in a symphony of colors and sounds. He floated gently off the ground and above the heads of the wide eyed. Every move that he did had a purpose. Producing another impossible trick, another burst in the imagination of those watching. The crowd could only be absorbed by the spectacle. Wondering, trying to wrap their consciousness around what was happening. Mr.Solstice breathed heavily. He was sweating, but his face was lit in a smile of pure joy. His eyes though wandered among the crowd and a small twitch of sadness revealed itself.

“Well then. I hope you have all enjoyed yourselves tonight. This is the end of the show. It seems that somethings of the past has caught up with me. To all of you “ he rose his hand above his head, as he did so did the crowd. “I bid you a fantastic and magical filled destiny. Let all that comes to you be magnificent. Till next time!” He then clapped his hands and the crowd did the same. The theater was filled with two deafening crisp claps and the lights went out. There was complete silence and then the lights returned. Mr.Solstice was gone.

I am reading Win the Crowd by Steve Cohen which is about being able to read and influence crowds and other people. He is a magician by trade so it got me thinking about the magicians of real life.Mr.Solstice is a bit more then that. His shows are always cut short by a pursuing danger. I like the era of old America as well. A time of wild imagination and information took time to travel around. There would be more time to think and less to drown out your own crazy thoughts about the world. Also a lot more nature between towns.

The kingdom of the three Sullivans was in the middle of a glade that vibrated with deep and blinding greens. Streams that flowed gently in all directions glistened in between the rays of sun light that shone through the large oak trees which spread across the land. It was a paradise that one could only imagine in a childrens dream. Travelers would cast them selves into the wilderness, past the mountains of Grees, through the swamps of the forgotten and the lakes of Hilden just to for the chance to witness the emerald green glade. How was it possible that such a place existed surrounded by so much chaos? One did not know and one did not question it’s existence. They only thanked all of creation for the sights, sounds and experience of it all.

In the middle of the kingdom was the city. Rising high in the clouds it spiraled with gold and white columns cascading the circular buildings higher and higher. One could see the towering structures from any location in the glades. When travelers would be fearing for their lives in the mountains of Grees, they could see the tower in the distance piecing the sky with its gold and white. Tears would fall from their frozen eyes at the sight, finally realizing what their pain was worth. When one approached the base of the city they were greeted with great oaks that gave ample shade and bodies of water which glistened and projected a calmness that flowed through the whole land. Water gently fell from the city walls which were adorned in all sorts of mystical creatures cast in ebony and stone. They scoured at enemies and welcomed guests.

Most days a gentle rain would flow through the kingdom. Dark clouds would wash the sky and contrast the glowing landscape. A sweet warm spring rain would then wash everything down, leaving the scent of honey and lavender in the air. The land was filled with animals that preyed on each other in the dark, but by day remained proper and docile. Their eyes would spy travelers beaten and wary and give them their blessing as they made their way.

Among the roads to the kingdoms some small towns sat on top of large grassy knolls, under tower forests and near gentle rivers and lakes. Each one harvesting the fruits from the land and sending it towards the capital and foreign lands. Most of them looked similar with their large wooden ornate structures. Dark brown wood carved from the massive oaks made up each of the buildings. The wood was then hammered and chiseled to make swirling edges to the roofs and to make up the rounded and triangular doors on some of the houses. Some towns were filled with one story buildings that scattered randomly round while other were filled with two story structures with balconies that gave view to the surroundings. What ever town you visited there was always honey ale. The lands specialty. It was sweet and thick, but with a hint of spice and a calming effect when going down the throat. Everyone drank it in the land and was sought after from many outside. Harvested from the abundance of honey from the large bee’s in the east of the land, the honey would then be mixed with lavender, spice and a mixture of water and milk. Then it would sit for a single day, mixed, heated and then mixed again. It would then be stored in large oak barrels coated in a thin layer of Humberg wax to make sure it did not stick and shipped off to the towns and kingdoms.

The kingdom of the three Sullivans was in the middle of a glade. A glade that was surrounded by darkness. A glade spreading it’s beacon of hope. The kingdom of the three Sullivans was destined to fall.

But also to rise again.

I like making landscapes and weird mystical places. I often dream of glades and spring like landscapes to calm my self down. This is mostly from my fondness of the forest zone from Phantasy Star Online. A place that the sun is always shining. A nice gentle breeze flows through just at the right time and a stream, buzzing bees, and small animals fill the air with their music. Large white clouds would always be passing by to give shelter from the sun while the large trees always gave respite.

His face hit the ground as he tumbled and fell down the hill. His arms and legs scrapped against the under brush and he slammed into a bush at the bottom. His body pumped him full of more adrenaline as he bolted up and sprinted. To where he did not know, but the thrashing and howling from behind him was catching up. Light beyond the tree line lit up his eyes and he entered an empty field where a factory amassed in front of him. He entered through one of large doors and started his way through the maze of rusted machinery and dull yellow lights. The hum of a factory running on its last leg filled his ears and drummed through him. He heard a screech come from where he had entered. He did not ever know what he was running from. When his eyes set upon IT, his body instantly flung into action, sprinting full speed in the opposite direction before his brain could even render the image in his mind. It was as if what ever IT was, the fear of it, the panic that over took him was buried thousands of years in his genes. To the deepest root of his core he knew that what ever IT was would annihilate him at any chance. This fear speared its way through him from some ancient past. How many had been massacred by IT to have the mere sight of it induce a genetic fear to be passed down for all of time.

The thing breathed heavily against the metal. It’s legs pounded and swept across the concrete floor with incredible speed which seems to be getting faster and faster with each turn and door he slammed through. He was lost, but he could not stop. His body would not let him. It propelled him past the bulk works of the factory. Under and over machines, anything to keep him moving, anything to create distance.

But the distance was closing.

He rounded a corner and started screaming for help. Wailing, crying into the metal structure. He was running out of breathe. his body was no longer able to keep up, he needed someone, anyone. He screamed and shouted till his throat went raw. All while flailing down hallways of rusted brown. He came to a pair of doors.

His body slammed against them, but the doors propelled him back. He bolted back up and started to slam at them. They would not budge.

“Please, please, please” he whispered while tears and sweat rolled down his face.

The breathing was now upon him. He turned. Eyes wide, mouth screaming, body tense. His mind could not capture what IT was. But his genes were right. The eyes that had seen and survived somehow from eons past told him what was about to happen.

It was over.

Inspired by fear. Not normal fear, but the terrified fear that you get when you know that it’s over. Like swimming and see a shark approaching you. Or a lion in the jungle running at you with it’s teeth ready to devour you. A fear that goes beyond the mind.

This story is a bit vague, which it is supposed to be. The terror is what I tried to capture. This concept shows up a bit in my writing. A lot of the creatures are other worldly and if you saw them I think the terror would be great.

Sundays were pool days. My wife and I would head over to the community pool to hang out with friends and have a few drinks basking near the cooler parrots of the world. Today was no different. I grabbed our beach stuff and headed out for another day of relaxing pool vibes. The sun was shining and cool breeze was wisping over the water as I stared at my wobbly reflection.

“let’s dive in” I said hopping over the cool blue water.

My head starting pounding as I cast my self into the water. The itch became scratch then clawed at my brain.

Memories flashed through my mind. A past movie that I had seen to have forgotten. Or made to forget. I was back at the side of the pool with my childhood friend Sam who was shaking furiously. He looked at me his eyes stretching his whole face into a maniac shape.

“Endless, it was endless” he mumbled.

“What was? What happened?” His parents were scrambling over to us.

“The water, the monster. Yellow eyes, bigger then our houses. Teeth…” Sam shrieked again and his parents arrived and pushed me away to scoop him up. “Don’t go in all the way” He screamed as they pushed him past the fence to the their car “Don’t go in all the way”

That was the last time I had seen Sam in my life. After that his family moved out of town. I had seen when Sam dove into the pool that day. A cannonball. His legs tucked underneath him and barreling into the the water. A splash hit me in the face and when I cleared my vision Sam was not visible below the chlorine water. I swam over to where he had impacted and dove down. He was gone. I came back up for air and whipped around looking across the pool for any signs. Suddenly he burst from the reflection of the sun screaming wildly on the other side of the pool where he had entered.

For weeks I wondered where he had gone and what he meant. I had not been back to the pool since then. One night I thought about what Sam was screaming in the last moments that I saw him. My mom had drawn me a bath and I sat soaking in the warm water.

“Don’t go all the way in” rang in my head as I looked down at my legs through the fun house mirror.

Then I dropped. First it was my neck then up to my mouth. I took in a large breath through my nose and slid all the way in.

Pressure came from all sides. My head spun and I flung my arms and legs in all directions looking for a way out. I burst out of the water sucking in all the oxygen that I could.

I panted and stared up. Purple, and violet dust clouds covered the celestial. Planets of burnt orange and cinnamon cascaded and filled the void above. I looked towards the horizon. Water. I waded around. Water in all directions. Then I heard Sam’s cries in my head. Endless. Yellow eyes. I paddled a bit in one direction. I could see nothing but the endless ocean reflecting the grand sights from above. Then I heard something. Faint, but enough to catch my attention. I swam around and saw something in the distance. It was like a black pole sticking out of the water. I was so far away, but I could see it cutting a black line in the celestial painting. Then it looked as if it dipped into the water.

That’s because it did. I couldn’t see the shape any longer, but I could see the waves being projected by it’s whipping back and forth on the top of the water. The ocean rose and fell slightly at first, but then became a rough roller coaster. The waves were getting bigger and wilder. They started to pick me up and carry me with them. The thing got closer and closer and as it did my mind started to rip and tear. The sheer size was reaching my peak comprehension and it was still far way. I started to panic and swim in the opposite direction as the waves started picking me up and crash. I sucked in water and coughed and screamed for help as I stroked as fast as I could. The waves grew bigger and I rode into the sky. A roar filled my ears and whole body. The wave crashed and I was cast underwater. My vision spun and tried to catch what was under. I turned towards it. Yellow eyes like two darkened suns glowing in the deep dark water engulfed me. The Light from space cast into the ocean and the beast was a serpent. It’s body seemed to go into infinity. It’s dragon like mouth opened where rows and rows of sharp teeth the size of mountains cascaded into a landscape of carnage and death. I screamed evacuating all the air from my lungs into the sweet water. It roared, a deep howling roar that comprised of symphonies of tragedy and misery. I flailed about and my hand smacked against the side of my bath tub shattering it and I scrambled out of the tub on to the tiled floor screaming, howling, crying, clawing for escape.

A few days later there was a knock on the door. A few men entered the house and fired off questions to my parents and then gagged me and strolled me out somewhere. Somewhere to make me forget.

But now. I remembered. As my body dove under the water. The pressure came back and as I breached the crest, the celestial painting appeared before my eyes and the endless horizon of ocean surrounded me.

I could not see it, but I could feel the torrent from below. The monster was coming.

Inspired by SCP-1128 I changed a few things from the original concept. I have always been fascinated with endless water planets. I guess this comes from playing Ecco the Dolphin as a kid and being fascinated by the oceans. What struck me about SCP-1128 is that it acts like a virus. Once you know, you are always at risk of being transported into it’s clutches. I think that is very terrifying. You cannot escape, even if you do, it’s only temporary.

The room was lit by a single large flat screen TV. Police cars, ambulances, and news casters filled the scene. A man jumped over the couch, brushed his hair back and pushed his gold horned rimmed glasses up his nose.

“Police are saying this is the worst killings they have seen in years. Fourteen men and women have been found in pieces around the city. No suspects have been listed yet”

The screen flipped to the outside of an apartment building and then followed the captain of police to the outside of an apartment door.

“These have been the worst serial killings we have seen in a long time, who has done this will pay the ultimate price. I won’t stop till they are caught”

The man clicked the mute button and stood up into the projected light.

“Worst? Why is it always the worst?” He turned to his left. A set of eyes cried out to him. He walked over to the wall and flicked the lights on. “Do you see that? or I guess, hear that, worst”

The man snatched a large knife from the table. Bound to a chair was a young women, her eyes were large circles that were stained by tears. She struggled against her bonds and screamed through the gag at him.

“Stop that, what do you mean? You don’t know what your talking about. Fourteen” The man with the knife was young, thin, square jaw line and semi brown hair. He looked like an old school librarian. Dressed in black slacks, a tweed vest and a white button up shirt that was rolled up before his elbows. “I’m the best, not the worst”

He shook his head and pulled a chair in front of the bound women. She extended trying to threaten, but he waved her off with his knife.

“Look, I’m going to tell you a secret, yeah? Okay okay, here it goes. Those other things out there, the second rate serial killers, murders, what ever you call them. They cut their prizes up while they are alive.” The man shook his head and rolled his eyes “Like how are you going to get clean cuts if they are moving all around or blood is flowing so hard? You aren’t. Yeah yeah use drugs and all that, blah blah, doesn’t work, tried it. Does it look like I have time to surgeon people? To many people to get to. What a pain. Also I am going to tell you something else. That police captain. I have had coffee twice with him. Twice! and I told him TWICE that I was the serial killer. I told him, you have to start calling me the best, not the worst. This schmuck didn’t believe me. I tell everyone what I do, no one cares, what a sick game this is huh?”

The man return the chair to the table and walked back over to the women. Her energy was running out. The screaming, struggling and rationalizing were taking a toll on her. Her eyes fluttered to stay awake. Then she felt her arms being unshackled and the gag removed from her mouth.

“All right, all done.” the man said.

The women stood up weakly and stared at the man.

“Your letting me go?” she said hoarsely

The man reached for her and spun her around to see the chair she was bound to. There she was. Sitting, blood running from her neck and down her chest and pooling at feet of the chair.

“Sorry, your dead, But good news or I mean, bad news? Maybe both, you take it the way you want, you have been dead for a couple days” he said returning to the couch and flipping the channels until it hit another news station.

The women stood staring. Distant. A void. If that was her, who was she now. She turned and looked at the man sitting on the couch. He was now eating a stick of jerky. In a lul she moved to the couch and sat next to him.

“Do you care to explain?”

The man ripped off another head of jerky and pushed his glass up “Look, I’m good at something. Being a serial killer. The best, already am. I have even serial killed serial killers” He grinned and gave a thumbs up to her “Now you may ask what is all this ghost stuff that you are experiencing and this jazz. I serial kill people that have been missed by the grim reaper. Here” He pulled out a cylinder object. It was smooth metallic black. It pulsed with a cold energy. “Look at this” with a quick flick of his wrist a ghostly parchment draped from the cylinder. Fog emitted around the paper. “This list, which is updated all the time, is of those that death has missed. That car accident that you survived a couple of days ago, nah, you didn’t”

The women looked closer at the scroll. The names were jet black against a faded white parchment. They seemed to faze in and out and some would even disappeared before he eyes.

“Pretty cool eh? Well I had a dilemma on my hands. See I’m a natural born killer. Yet! I had an inner conflict. I like people and humanity, but damn, that feeling of” He made a stabbing motion with the beef jerky stick “and the life just seeping out, nothing like it. So one day, I just asked the sky. What should I do and Bam!” he leapt off the couch and stomped around “a bear came running straight out of the woods were I was, It’s teeth, claws ready and sliced me down.” he gave a laugh “Just ate me right there. When I awoke there it was, death with a contract and oh check this out” The man extended his hand towards the knife which was sitting on the table behind them, it wobbled then flew from the table into his palm. “My scythe”

The women made no motion, her face was stoic and internally she felt nothing,but exhaustion. No confusion over the whole situation, no anger over what she had gone through, just pure exhaustion.

“So what now? Heaven?”

“We wait. Death will show up and take you somewhere” He flopped back down next to her “So in the mean time” the TV unmuted “Jerky?” he held out a fresh stick to her.

The women sighed.

She grabbed the jerky.

This story was inspired by a irrational situation of a serial killer seeing that they were being called the worst, when if you took the stats, they were the best. Such as having the most kills or never getting caught. Also the thought of being good at something that is unmoral. As if what would happen if you asked the person who was going to kill you why they were doing it? and they said, “Well I am good at this”
I also remember seeing a Japanese movie where the serial killer would produce art from his victims, because it was his inspiration and what he was good at. This is sorta like that. I took a fun angle with it though, because While being morbid, being to morbid is sorta a drag.

“It’s snowing again”

Two men looked out the windows to see large flecks start to descend on them.

One of the men in a leather jacket stood up “Well, that means it’s time to get out of here, who knew it could even snow at this time of year”

The other man leaned back in his seat and took another peak out the window. The large flecks were now flurrying with the wind and the surroundings were starting to disappear behind a white sheet of tundra. The coldness extended through the glass and made his bones shiver.

“Careful out there Pete” the man took a sip of his coffee. Pete shrugged his leather shoulders and stepped out into flurry of coldness. The door slammed shut and the they looked at his back as it faded.

“Do you think he will be okay?” Sarah said taking Pete’s seat in front of the man.

The man gave a frown “Nope, he’s dead” he said and downed the last of his coffee. He held it out and Sarah poured him another cup. The restaurant was small. Log cabin themed, it sat in forest near a small midwestern town in the north. It got most of the locals to come down and enjoy the small menu and endless coffee. A few travelers from here or there would show up during the summer, but it sat in the forest as a shelter for those looking for something to eat and drink. A shelter from the wilderness, the rampaging nature that could claw it’s way to you. Tear at you. Leave you for dead.

The man that sat drinking coffee that had just proclaimed his friends death was Vandal Hearth. He always wore jet black clothes. Whether that was shorts and shirt, sweater and pants, coat and scarf. All of it was jet back. From his boots to his occasional hat. He would stroll by and you would think he was a shadow being misplaced.

“That’s a terrible thing to say” Sarah said pouring herself a cup of coffee. There would be no more customers today.

The wind started to howl and what trees you could see were starting to whip around.

“I told him that he would die if he came out here today. I can feel it, I could feel the snow, I could feel” Vandal stopped and swallowed “I could feel IT. Out there, IT watches”

Sarah let out a breath “Vandal you know I don’t like you start talking like that. This monster that you have been hunting, this IT, what ever it is. You have been out in the woods for far to long. There is nothing out there”

“Sarah I respect you, but you don’t know what you are talking about. I didn’t choose to be out in these god forsaken woods, but this is the closest I have been to IT”

Vandal had been in town for three years. He bought a cabin on the edge of town. His shadow would roam around the forest at night and in town during the day. He never seemed to sleep. No matter what part of the day, he would be looking, searching, wandering, hunting. Eyes like yellow pacing the landscape and corners of the dark woods. He would show up at Sarah’s restaurant every other day and drink copious amounts of coffee and eat a single piece of toast. Eyes always fixed to the large windows. He was older. Long gray hair that he pulled into a pony tail with a few strands that poked out over his forehead. A long nose with deep set eyes. He was always calm, collected and cool. Nothing ever seemed to bother Vandal.

The wind whistled and and the noise died down. Vandal tapped his fingers against the table then produced something wrapped in a black cloth and set it on the table.

“What’s that?” Sarah asked. Vandal never seemed have anything on him other then a small wallet.

Vandal brushed the object then unwrapped it. Revealing it’s self like an unholy object from eons ago a blade that seemed to absorb light dimmed the table. The blade was large and covered with smaller curved blades that sprung out in all directions. The handle had a small guard around it and another point from the hilt. As it sat, it hummed an unholy tune inside her skull. As if all the music in the world were tuned to insanity and dialed in to the frequency of chaos.

“Wha-“ Sarah went to speak, but Vandal shot up form the seat taking the blade in his hand. As it moved through the air it caused a black mist to form. “Vandal, stop”

He stopped at the door. The storm began to rage again, this time in anticipation of the battle to come.

“You have been a lovely host Sarah, see you around” Vandal pushed open the door against the wind. It slammed shut and Sarah peered out the window. Vandal stopped in front of the winter torrent. The unholy blade seemingly absorbing any light the remained.

Vandal Hearth stepped into and through the winter wall.

• Inspired by the snow that is falling today. It has been rather nice and we are in spring, but the snow came from no where. In an hour the outside looked more of winter then it did of spring. The knife is inspired by the knife in Over the Black Rainbow, The Devils Teardrop. An item out of place in our world.